The FBI in the House of Horus

It must have been a slow week before Lent for our Full Body Inspectors and the Female Bodice Inquisitors to have time to close down Kelley’s Bar, as well as grab six Garapan ladies-of-the-night within a week, or so the grapevine and the papers say.

The fact that one of the ladies was not quite 21 years old yet means that she violated the law against loitering in an establishment that serves alcoholic beverages, that two are on island on student visas means that they violated immigration provisions that prohibits them from being gainfully employed, make these purveyors of feminine pulchritude a real threat to the nation’s security. They must be engaged in a higher level and urgent form of espionage to be so blatantly silly and transparently careless in their behavior.

I am sure our very able personnel of the Federal Bureau of Investigation are all done with ferreting out the fingers of corruption in the affairs and coffers of State, and have assured the general public of the secured state of our domestic tranquility, to be able to trap these insidious practitioners of an illicit trade.

Given the preeminence of the culture of suspicion since we cast doubt on the Dutch Boy Paint ad where the picture of a Scandinavian boy (obviously, a commie) standing over a globe oozing with red paint, patently a symbol of the red menace, it is no surprise if we are assiduously monitoring the movements of aliens and other threats to our social stability. Where best to catch these aliens in the act of violating our laws than in the CNMI where “them” outnumber “us.”

The word on the street is that a mama-san had the temerity to raise her fees when the boys from one of our Navy boats came calling for R&R. In jacking her fees, she might have been casting her net to the higher echelons in the chain of command. She might have been baiting the knowledgeable to innocently divulge information when they had imbibed too much Jim Beam, or taken comfort in the soft arms of her young nu ers (girls). One can never tell what insidious intents lurk on the painted faces on the other side of those karaoke bars! So the low level disgruntled grunts were not too happy, and our blue jacket personnel were only too glad to set a trap. After mama-san made her pitch and got paid, the girls went to a hotel room where they were properly cuffed, according to one of our not-always-reliable sources.

In the American landscape of retribution where the heat of vengeance and the color of reprisal is the lingua franca of international law and justice, the closing of Gitmo notwithstanding, we can almost guess what awaits these descendants of the Red Guards who were born in the sunset years of Deng Xiao Peng. One of my former English language learners found her way to a penitentiary in Christopher Dodd’s domain for failing to return her recalcitrant friend’s $5,000 that was paid for the privilege of coming to work in Saipan, and failing to stomach the job description of a karaoke bar waitress! Human trafficking is the offense.

A friend from the legal profession told me this week that she knew I was soft-hearted but that she trusts I am not turning soft-minded as well. Similarly, a colleague, after perusing my week-long musings on the House of Horus a few weeks back also confronted me with the charge that not only do I appear soft on the illegal activity of commercial sex, and evidently condoning it, I seem to be gaily promoting the profession, and painting a false picture that all is well with the “pretty woman” and “Irma la Douce.”

Fair enough. I do worry about the despondency that pervades most of the practitioners I have met. There is Jeannie who no longer is welcome to any of the watering holes because she has shown behavior that indicates a few marbles may be out of place. She walks the street near a 24-hour convenience store selling her wares for as low as $10 per acting performance. Her neglect of hygiene and appearance, however, repels consumers. She has hooked up with a neighbor suspected of certain addictions, and yes, she is a sore sight and should be of particular concern to the Department of Health—physical and mental, the Police Department, and Immigration.

Then there is Linda from a rural province who paid ¥90,000 (about $12,000 at the time) for the privilege of working on Saipan. Lured by a town mate who promised her a job, she came when garment factories were shutting down, worked on an on-call basis for three months before the factory advised her to seek other employment. Her town mate conveniently disappeared at about the same time, and she did not bother to return to their hometown so that she could be inveigled to return some of the upfront fee paid to come to Saipan.

With not even a rudimentary knowledge of English, a 12-year-old daughter she left with her parents, and not particularly a drop dead beauty queen, she groveled herself into survival both in the profession and hopefully, out of it soon. She said once, “I had only one lao gong (old man) in China; here, I now have plenty!”

She learned to use cosmetics, subtle but suggestive attire, and choreographed an attractive swagger to her lanky frame. But more importantly, she worked diligently and religiously on her English language that now she is seriously dating a merchant marine. She still makes her living on her back, but she does so with cold detachment, military precision and academy-award quality performance. While she thinks she will recoup her investment in a year, she has decided that she can no longer afford to return home. She has lost too much face, psychologically and socially, that she will become only a source of support for her family, but no longer a presence in their immediate circle of affection. She is hitching her star on the promises of her new beau.

That there is an unpleasant stink in the sewer comes not from the nature of the sewage but on our refusal to acknowledge it as a part of our community life. Decriminalization of former illicit activities like the trade in the flesh is happening with favorable consequences in many parts of the world. It might be something for the Commonwealth to regulate even if indirectly. Not too long ago, gambling was illegal. Why not keep the blue jackets preoccupied with more serious crimes, and let the ladies ply their trade in good health and social acceptance. Cow town, anyone?